VI: Harry Potter and the School of Fugitives
by Alquamor
Summary: CHAPTER 6 UP! Between death, two love triangles, death, a curse on the Weasley family, death, successful death eater attacks, and death, Harry's sixth year is rather... hectic. Please R/R.
1. Deja Vu

Any name, place, incantation, or magical creature used in this story that has more than a coincidental connection with the Harry Potter books by J.K. Rowling is probably taken from her, but as copyright law only dictates that you can't sell material copyrighted by someone else, I am legally in the clear. It is quite probable that in later chapters I will be making up some of my own names, places, etc. If you can't find it in Rowling or Tolkien, it belongs to me.

**VI: Harry Potter and the School of Fugitives**

Notes: Yes I know I'm skipping a year, that's the point. We are starting anew, and the clues to what happened last year will be worked out as we go along. You have to think, infer a little bit. I'm sorry if that puts too much of a strain on your brain but deal with it. You're old enough to start thinking now, and if you aren't then you really aren't old enough to be reading fanfiction because some of what I've read... well, let's get on with the story.

Chapter 1: Deja Vu

In which I follow the age-old Rowling tradition of restating everything from the previous books. Okay, I leave some of it out and make some pretty outlandish – from the narrow-minded, stereotypical view of the books – claims about what happened last year, but again, deal with it.

Harry Potter opened his eyes and put his hand to the scar on his forehead. He had been dreaming – again – and had awoken with a slight pain to the lightning-shaped cut – again. Thank heaven he had developed some resistance. Last year hadn't been too bad, but in his fourth year, Harry would sometimes lose control of himself. That time with Professor Trelawney... he shuddered.

Harry sat up in bed and reached for his glasses. The clock at his bedside read 2:24 am, and, as always in these stories, the date was now July 31st. Harry didn't particularly care that it was his birthday, and that he was now 16 years old. He was also sure that this year he wouldn't be receiving any presents. Uncle Vernon, who seemed to have taken a courage concoction over the summer, had again locked Hedwig in her cage and put bars on the bedroom windows. Still, Harry wasn't confined to his room, which was definitely a good thing. Even though Hermione had given him a copy of _The Lord of the Rings_ to read over the summer (apparently she found it to be the one fiction story complicated enough to bother with), he would have finished it within a month and been bored for the rest of the time. As things were, he could entertain himself by taunting Dudley.

Dudley had changed a lot over the school year. Although still obnoxious, fat, and sadistic, he steadfastly refused to tell his parents anything. It seemed that Smeltings had finally had some good affect on him. Through threats of bodily harm (a tactic which surprised Harry in its success), Harry had extracted the story from his cousin. Someone had teased him for always running to his parents, as well as for being the size of a beluga whale; he had beaten Dudley severely with his Smeltings stick and left him crying on the ground. The other boys were not so kind. They threw rocks at the sobbing Dudley and taunted him beyond endurance. It was hard not to feel a little bit sorry for the gorilla, thought Harry, even though it had been deserved. Fifteen years of the old Dudley were not easily dismissed from the memory, and Harry was using every chance he had to get back, even reducing his cousin to tears once or twice.

A sudden movement in the corner of the room caught Harry's eye; no, it was just the Chudley Cannons poster Ron had gotten for him. He couldn't imagine why: Ron knew that Harry was a big Montrose Magpie fan, as he had been only barely able to put up with the orange and black sheets on Ron's bed when he went to stay at The Burrow last summer. Still, it was nice to have some reminder of Quidditch, and thus of the wizarding world, in his room. Quidditch was practically Harry's life – since being made Gryffindor team captain last year, he had become almost as fanatical as the previous captain, Oliver Wood. Now he worried constantly about finding replacements for the four players he had lost this past year (Fred, George, Katie, and Alicia had all graduated). The team had already been weakened by the loss of Angelina and the brilliant former Keeper, Wood, so that now Harry was the only upperclassman on the team.

His scar pricked again, reminding Harry of his dream. Although it was now only a memory, the horror dispersed by the calm of night, at the time it had been one of the most terrifying to date. Voldemort was obviously regaining much of his former strength, and his haunting presence in Harry's dreams seemed to be proportional to the cruelty that he inflicted each night. Usually it was on Professor Snape. Only now did Harry realize what a sacrifice Snape had made for – well, he wasn't sure for whom. Night after night he responded to the pain on his arm, and night after night Harry's dreams were filled with images of his least favorite teacher writhing on the ground with pain. Perhaps two years ago – before Cedric died – Harry would have found it slightly enjoyable to watch. Now it was incredibly hurtful. The worst part was the effect it had had on Snape's classes: last year, there had been days on which he was too weak to control his students. Too weak even to take points from Gryffindor, which was his favorite pastime.

As his thoughts were racing out of control, Harry decided to abandon even the pretense of trying to get back to sleep. He had always been a night owl. Even as he thought this last word in his head, a tap sounded at his windowpane. Despite the bars separating it from the recipient of its message, the owl managed to get its letter to Harry by half-perching on one of the bars and sticking the other foot into the room. After a brief struggle, the owl broke loose and Harry had a rolled letter squashed in his hand. On closer inspection, it appeared to be two letters: one the school supply list for Hogwarts, and tied on, almost like a postscript, a small slip of paper with words written in a handwriting that Harry recognized as familiar, but couldn't put a name to.

Harry Potter:

You must know before you come to Hogwarts this year that you are in grave danger. As your power grows so does that of the Enemy; but they were not equal in the first place, and his is growing faster than your own. Trust in no strength but the power of Hogwarts and the power of the spells that surround Privet Drive. There is nothing to stop him from killing you elsewhere.

I look forward to seeing you alive and well (hopefully) at some later date.

There was no signature.

Harry had once received a warning like this before, during his second year. The house-elf Dobby had come to stop him from going to Hogwarts, but had ultimately failed. He had not regarded that one, and he did not plan to take notice of this one now. Everything had turned out well in his second year; undoubtedly the same thing would happen now. Anyway, taking advice from unsigned messages was potentially allowing the sender to take advantage of you, Harry persuaded himself. Surely it was more sensible to ignore the letter.

And yet he wondered.

The dire things that Dobby had warned of had indeed come to pass. Harry had been as good as dead, and only the tears of Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, had saved him. Voldemort was gaining power, it was true. Even so, would he dare to attack Harry while the latter was ensconced in a wizarding household? The letter could not be referring to The Burrow as one of the places to avoid. Diagon Alley, which was crowded with powerful witches and wizards every hour of the day, every day of the year, was certainly a safe place to be. After convincing himself a second time that there was nothing to fear, Harry got back in bed. It was a chilly night for July. He watched the time go by on his clock, and his eyelids slowly dropped until they were closed.


	2. Dursleys

Chapter 2: Dursleys

In which I show what I told you about the changes that have happened at home over the past two years, in which I prove through my vocabulary that I am American and not British, and in which I set up the situation for the first two WDs. My roommate is very mad at me about the nine WDs which will occur during this story, as are the rest of my friends, but I DON'T CARE. It's necessary to the plot so don't complain about it. After the first two WDs I will stop telling you when they are coming, it's a surprise.

The next morning was like any other morning in the Dursley household. Harry was the last one to the breakfast nook, and received cold pancakes and bacon. "At least they stopped forcing me to make breakfast," he thought gratefully as he doused his meal in cold syrup. He ate it alone, as the Dursleys had already retired to the living room for a discussion about he didn't particularly care what. After his fourth pancake Harry was full, and decided to find out what was so interesting. It had to be something good, or otherwise they would have been in to taunt him by now.

As Harry walked in to the living room all conversation ceased. Uncle Vernon had been looking at the floor, and his gaze remained studiously fixed in that direction. Aunt Petunia took a quick look at Harry and then hurriedly gave her attention to the window. Dudley uttered a small squeak and shrank back in to his chair, watching his cousin in horror. It was a better reaction than Harry had expected.

"Hello, all," he said brightly, sitting in an empty chair. "Lovely day."

Aunt Petunia fidgeted a little, and Uncle Vernon looked up with a mix of hatred and fear in his eyes. "Since when does he fear me?" Harry wondered.

"Harry." Uncle Vernon spat out the word as if it had a foul taste. "Have your friends written to invite you to stay the holidays yet?"

"What?" If Harry had been expecting anything, this wasn't it.

"It seems like they do every year," said Uncle Vernon dismissively, yet obviously driving to further some object. "I was merely surprised that you had not yet received an invitation."

"Ah. Well, the bars on my windows keep owls from getting in with their messages, you know. I expect he has tried to reach me but was not able to because of them."

The next day, Uncle Vernon paid a man to take the bars off of Harry's windows, and unlocked Hedwig's cage. Harry had no problem whatsoever with the Dursleys trying to get rid of him; he would have liked to get rid of the Dursleys. He was surprised, though, that they were willing to get rid of Harry by making him happy: usually they preferred to keep him at home, subdued and miserable. It made no difference, though, and Harry grinned as he watched Hedwig fly off into the August night with a message for Ron.

Perhaps if he had known the motives for the Dursleys' sudden change in heart, Harry would have been less willing to leave. While Harry was busy with his breakfast on the morning of the 31st, the three Dursleys were busy discussing the letter they had received on the previous day.

It had been sent in the ordinary muggle fashion, with perfectly placed writing and only one stamp. The rest of the letter was quite extraordinary.

Dear Mr. And Mrs. Vernon Dursley,

How are you? I trust that everything is going well out in the muggle world. I must confess that we do not as a group keep up with your news, but I personally subscribe to a selection of muggle newspapers, just in case something important appears in them. I will assume, as I have seen nothing to the contrary, that things are going well.

But, alas, we cannot linger on the pleasantries for very long. I am writing to you because you are Harry's guardians and he is in great danger. As long as he remains with you he cannot be harmed, even if he is attacked by the most powerful forces known to mankind. If he leaves you for a destination other than Hogwarts, however, it is very likely that he will be killed or injured. Harry is no ordinary wizard.

I give my very best wishes for you,

Albus Dumbledore

Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Of course such a letter could not go unnoticed. After drawing the blinds and turning on the television as precautions against spying neighbors, the Dursleys sat down and discussed what should be done with Harry. The unanimous decision was to remove him as soon as possible from Privet Drive, for a few reasons. There was, of course, the happy fact that if Harry was gone, he was, well, gone. The Dursleys wouldn't have to deal with him for another year. While this was almost always balanced out by the desire to keep Harry unhappy at all times, the recent letter from Dumbledore had assured that that was not an issue. Although it had recommended that Harry remain at Privet Drive, the mention of attack as a definite possibility was yet another incentive to get Harry out of the house. It was decided; Harry should be sent off to stay with his friends for the rest of the summer. This was an arrangement that everyone except Dumbledore approved of.

On the 3rd of August, Hedwig returned with Ron's letter.

Harry,

Glad to hear the muggles are finally cooperating! It's weird, isn't it? 

The sudden change in heart, I mean. Oh well, the better for both of us...

Don't feel bad about inviting yourself! You know very well that you're welcome here at any time. Mum and dad are looking forward to having you over again. We'll pick you up at 6:00 this coming Saturday, if that's okay with the muggles. Just make sure the chimney's open this time, and we're only sending mum. To make your cousin feel better, ha ha.

Seeya soon,

Ron

As the Dursleys were very persistent in their assurances that Saturday would be fine, though perhaps not early enough, Harry spent the greater part of the rest of the week packing his Hogwarts school supplies, taking extra care that his Firebolt was carefully wrapped in cotton, then in dragon hide. He often found Dudley peeking around the corner at him during these sessions, much to his surprise. Once he came back to his room after taking a shower and found his belongings carefully spread out on the floor, with his copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ open to the fourth page. It was rather unnerving to think of his cousin taking such an interest in magic: before this summer he had shrunk from the very word. Strange, indeed; strange and ominous. Harry suspected that his aunt and uncle were using Dudley as a spy, though to what end he had no idea.

Saturday arrived. The Dursleys were less nervous than they had been for the previous two years, and actually seemed to be in quite high spirits. All of the residents of Number 4 Privet Drive had their eyes on the clock for most of the day. Mr. Dursley was thinking about how peaceful the house would be after Harry was gone. Mrs. Dursley was feeling relieved that finally she would be able to spy on the neighbors with nothing to hide from _their_ eyes. Dudley was out cold, Harry having used _Avada Kedavra_ on him a few short hours earlier.

Just kidding.

Harry was staring out the window, wishing he were at the Burrow. Shallowly, he had forgotten the unsigned letter he had received. All his thought was bent on the passage of time, willing it forward to 6:00. The day, like a boring science teacher, droned on and on and on. Harry fell asleep with a fly buzzing lazily in his ear.

It was dawn, somewhere in the American midwest. Harry didn't know where he was, though. He saw a familiar circle in front of him; for a minute he thought it was Stonehenge. He started toward it, but then he stopped. It wasn't Stonehenge: it was a circle of Voldemort's death eaters.

Harry didn't run away. He had been through enough of these dreams to know that he was in no personal danger. In fact, he was an even more useful spy than Snape, as no one knew of his presence. He crept closer, and actually stepped through Mr. Malfoy into the center of the ring. Then he kicked Voldemort in the balls. He knew it wouldn't hurt him, but it was satisfying anyway.

The death eaters were waiting for something, and Voldemort was pacing up and down in the middle of the circle. There were a few gaps in the ring; Harry supposed that they were for members that had not yet arrived. His guess was confirmed as more people apparated in to their places. Finally there was only one gap. Then even that was filled; Professor Snape had just joined the group.

"Good." Voldemort's voice was a low hiss. Harry's experience told him that the Dark Lord was trying to disguise his emotion, to keep his death eaters on their toes. "We are all here."

"Uh oh," thought Harry. "Snape's in for it now."

"_Crucio!_"

Voldemort spun around without warning and hit Snape in the chest with his curse. The potions master fell backwards, then somehow managed to get on his knees and prostrate himself before his 'master.'

The slight pain in Harry's scar stopped. Snape scrambled up, breathing heavily, his black hair in disarray.

"You fool!" said Voldemort, in something less and yet more than a shout. "How could you let them flout the ministry guidelines?"

"M-m-my lord-d?" Snape was still recovering from the cruciatus curse.

"Don't talk like that useless Professor What's-his-name," he snapped. "It was one more reason for me to let him die."

"Sorry, my lord."

"My ministry contact has informed me of the Hogwarts issue," he continued, as if nothing had happened. He snapped his fingers, and a tall death eater stepped forward. Even his mask was completely hidden by his black hood.

"Hogwarts has elected to make its own rules, and abide no longer by the ones I have enforced in the Ministry," said the figure, his voice clipped and military, as one used to being a servant. This was a new addition to the circle; Harry didn't recognize him from previous visits.

"And, as you know," continued Voldemort in a smooth and silky voice, "I reward only those who serve me well."

The land about was lit up with orange light from the cruciatus curse. Snape fell forward to his hands and knees, and then looked up, straight in to Harry's eyes. The expression on his face was one of pain and hatred, and as Harry faded away the black eyes bored deeper and deeper into his own green ones, stripping away layer upon layer of his defenses until the real Harry lay quivering under the professor's heartless gaze. Then everything went white.

Someone was calling his name softly. "Harry. Harry."

He blinked and the world came into focus. Mrs. Weasley was standing over him, the Dursleys a few paces behind. "Harry, wake up."

From the look on her face he could only guess that he had been somehow reacting to his dream; perhaps moaning or thrashing about. He sat up and readjusted his glasses, which had been hanging from his nose.

"Are you ready to go?" Aunt Petunia asked urgently.

"Yes."

"Come on, dear," said Mrs. Weasley kindly. "Floo powder again; I know you don't like it, but it really is the best way to travel."

The witch and the wizard disappeared into the emerald flames. Uncle Vernon quickly put the fire out, then motioned to Dudley and Aunt Petunia. Together they boarded the fireplace closed, three boards thick. Then Dudley collapsed into a chair, both exhausted from the work and relieved that Harry was gone, and this time for good.


	3. Burrowing In

Chapter 3: Burrowing In

In which I keep my promise to Olivia – she paid me $2.25 :) - to make Harry like Hermione. Fun love triangle, which will continue until the 5th WD. Then there will be another love triangle tee hee hee. I didn't mean to rhyme, don't kill me. Aagh! I did it again! I better get on to the story...

Olivia says: I want Hermione and Harry to share a passionate kiss (maybe more wink wink nudge nudge say no more).

Alquamor: Fat chance.

Harry stepped out of the Weasleys' fireplace, Mrs. Weasley following close behind him. He had never liked Floo powder, but with years of experience he had finally gained a sense of balance, so that now he never fell over at the end of the trip. For some reason, the Burrow looked different this time – after about a minute, he knew why. There were only four people waiting for him in the kitchen: Mr. Weasley, Fred, Ron, and Ginny. With nine people in the family, the Burrow had often seemed crowded, but now it felt strangely empty.

"Harry!" said Ginny warmly, standing up and giving him a warm hug. "How are you doing?" A straight year of going out with Ira Glatz had left her with only sisterly feelings for him, much to his relief. No more elbows in butter dishes or minor spills when he entered the room!

"Hello, all!" he replied cheerfully,returning Ginny's light embrace and then moving to sit down on an empty chair next to the fireplace. "how've things been here? I expect a full report. All right, Ron?"

"All right," smiled Ron. "But maybe you should tell us about your summer, first. After all, you _are_ the guest." Ron's grin widened as he saw Harry's discomfort. "After all, you are a wonderful public speaker," he teased.

The Weasleys all laughed as Harry's skin color grew closer to theirs by the second. Obviously the little fiasco with the dungbombs had not been forgotten over the summer. "Well," began Harry, trying to save face, "since you seem to have enjoyed that performance so much, perhaps you would like an encore?" He had said it so believably that this remark was met with absolute silence. Ginny started to giggle.

"Oh, come on, Harry, you know we were only joking with you. Anyway, how about your summer?"

They had only talked for about an hour when Mrs. Weasley shooed them out of the kitchen so that she could cook dinner, so Harry followed Ron up to his room. The bright orange walls blinded him, as usual. With a melodramatic sigh, Harry reached into his bag and started putting Magpie posters over the ones Ron currently had up. The black and white on top of the orange gave the room a strange, Halloween-like effect.

"Don't you dare put those up!" said Ron, pretending to be offended. "Keep your sucky Quidditch team away from these winners!" he pointed to his bedspread. Harry responded by grinning and pulling something more from his bag; in a few seconds the orange bedspread with two cannonballs was replaced by a white one with the head of a magpie.

After about fifteen minutes of playful squabbling, Harry packed up his Magpie gear and sat down on the bag, while Ron let himself fall over onto the bed. "So, Ron," he said, "how have things been going this summer?"

"Well, _I've_ been pretty much the same. But almost everybody else is having a lot of success in their jobs! Dad's the same as ever, but Fred, George, Percy, Charlie, and Bill are all moving up the ranks. I don't know much about the last two – they work too far away – but I can tell you about Fred, George, and Percy."

"Shoot."

"Percy, as you know, was working for Mr. Crouch during the fourth year, before... yeah, well, before all that. After a year of confusion, the Ministry has finally worked out the new hierarchy. They still call him 'Weatherby,' but he is now personal assistant to Fudge himself. He seems pretty happy about getting to order dad around, and his salary allows him to live elsewhere, I'm not sure exactly where. He's just an antisocial bastard s.o.b., if you ask me."

"That's an insult to your mom, you know. And how are the Wizard Wheezes coming along?"

"WHAT? Oh, that's right, I almost forgot you spend your summer with muggles. They're the newest sensation, and the entire wizarding world is wild for them. They had enough of a profit after just one year to buy out Zonko's. Now if we want to see the twins, we can just wait for a Hogsmeade trip!"

"But how..."

Harry didn't get to finish his sentence, because at that very moment Fred poked his head in. "Mum's finished supper. She says to come now or you won't get any." The three stumbled quickly down the stairs towards Mrs. Weasley's wonderful cooking.

At the dinner table, Harry had a thought. "Fred?"

"Hmm?"

"Why are you here, but not George?"

"Oh, Ron told you about Hogsmeade, eh? George is there, getting stuff set up for the school season. We didn't buy out Zonko's until about a month ago, see. I'm here to pick up the last of our inventions, the ones we stashed away so mum wouldn't find them."

There was a moment of silence, and then Ron laughed.

"What?"

"Oh, I just remembered of something. Do you remember that time when mum told you two that you weren't going to amount to anything, because you were wasting your time inventing and hadn't gotten enough OWLs?"

Harry and Fred both laughed. "Yes, that _is_ funny, isn't it?" chuckled Harry.

"By the way, you haven't gotten your OWL results back yet, have you?"

"You think I could hide them from mum? No, even you and George couldn't pull that off."

"No, I'm serious. They're normally back by now."

Harry shrugged. "Who knows?"

"Who cares?"

"You certainly will, once mum lights into you for being even worse than me," bantered Fred, who then put on a mocking Mrs. Weasley voice. _"Even Fred and George had better grades than those, and they were busy doing something useful! You lazy bum I'm going to throw you out on the street and not let you come back in until you've gone to the ministry and illegally changed your results."_

"Shh!" warned Ron earnestly, as Mrs. Weasley was watching suspiciously from the other end of the table. "We don't have as much talk to cover our own conversation anymore."

Harry hastily changed the subject. "So, when are we going to Diagon Alley?"

"Next week," said Ron. "Hermione's coming four days before. Apparently her parents don't particularly enjoy being the only muggles on a wizard street, so they're going to drop her with us again. Oh boy." Ron's rolling eyes and sarcastic drawl did not conceal the fact that he was looking forward to her arrival.

"Really, Ronald," said Fred, putting on an air of false offense, "shame on you to lie like that! You know you are looking forward to getting laid when she arrives!"

The table went silent. Ron's skin was outdoing itself in an effort to match his hair, while Mrs. Weasley's narrowed eyes were fixed on Fred, who backed into his chair sheepishly. The rest of the meal passed silently but for requests to pass dishes.

By the next day everything was back to normal again, or at least as normal as it got at the Burrow. The rest of the week was spent lounging around, playing gobstones and finishing homework, more of the former than the latter. On Tuesday the OWL results came for Harry and Ron; they surprised themselves by getting a 10 and an 8 respectively. "Hermione probably got a perfect 13," muttered Ron, "but we'll find out in a couple of days."

Hermione arrived on Thursday, and Mrs. Weasley made another huge dinner that night. True to form, Hermione had received a higher grade than any they had ever heard of, a 12.9 . It appeared that the graders, unwilling to give anyone 100%, had given her the next best thing. 

On Friday morning, though, Hermione didn't come down to breakfast. Hours passed. Lunch was served, and she still hadn't made an appearance. "Do you think she's all right?" Harry asked Ron as they went back up to the flaming orange room after their meal. "Maybe we should go check on her."

They stopped at Ginny's room, and Ron put his ear to the keyhole. "It sounds like she's crying," he muttered. "What could she possibly be crying about? That she missed 1/10th of a point on her OWLs?" Despite his mocking tone, he was obviously concerned.

"Hermione?" said Harry, knocking at the door. "Can we come in?"

There was a moment's pause, and then the door swung open. Hermione stood there, tears streaming down her face, clutching a piece of parchment in her hand.

"Are you all right?" asked Ron, for once letting his care show on his face.

"Oh, Ron," sobbed Hermione, coming forward to cry into his chest.

"What is it, Hermione?" asked Ron, putting his arms around her to comfort her.

"V-Viktor," she stammered. "He – he sent me th-this."

She turned the letter over to Harry, completely abandoning herself to Ron's embrace, now crying uncontrolably. Harry read out loud, "Dear Hermione, We have been going out for quite some time, as you know, but I think it is time for our relationship to end." Hermione cried even harder and louder and tried to burrow into Ron's chest and find protection there. Harry read on. "I wish you to know that I hold you in the highest respect and that I love you as dearly as a sister, but the long distance has taken a toll on our relationship. Please do not harbor any hard feelings towards me, and I will always regard you as a friend."

"Shh, it's all right, Hermione. It's all right," soothed Ron, patting her on the back as he held her.

The truth is that Harry was becoming more and more uncomfortable with the situation as it went on. Especially the part where Hermione was finding solace in Ron. "Correct me if I'm wrong," he thought in a growl, "but whenever there's an argument you two are on opposite sides. You fight constantly, you hated each other the first time you met. I was the one who brought the group together. And now," he continued, his anger rising, "I am the one left alone. Oh, Hermione, why did you pick Ron?"

[Author's Note: Remember, I personally do not like this arrangement. The only reasons I include it are that a) I get money and b) it will prove a useful plot element later on.]

"I'm sure you'll find someone else, Hermione. Besides, you have us." Harry's feeble attempt at comfort, along with his similarly lacking attempt to comfort Hermione by punching her lightly on the arm, did not meet with success. Ripping herself out of Ron's arms, she came kicking and screaming at her completely surprised admirer.

"How dare you!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. "I don't _want_ anyone else. I want Viktor. No one else!" She stamped her foot. "How untrue that is," she added to herself. "There is most definitely someone I want more than Viktor."

Ron pulled the momentarilly crazy girl away from Harry before she could hurt him. He held her close, effectively pinning her arms to her sides, as he gave Harry a small wink. "Hermione, I don't think you want to be personally responsible for changing Harry's title from 'the boy who lived' to 'the boy who died.'"

They all laughed, and for a single moment everything was back to normal. Then Hermione sank into Ron's chest again, and Harry felt another surge of jealousy course through him. "Thanks, Ron," said Hermione with a winning smile. "I needed that."

"Ha!" thought Harry and Ron at the right time. "_Sure_ she doesn't want anyone else." Of course, their reactions to this thought were different: Harry's heart plummetted through the floor, while Ron's mood skyrocketed.

"That's right, Hermes," Ron flirted back. "Now, get yourself cleaned up; you're a mess. Burn that letter, or better yet, send it back to Krum filled with bubotuber pus." Even Harry laughed at that.

After Hermione went to freshen up, Ron and Harry continued up the stairs. "Ron?" said Harry at length.

"Hmm?"

"You like Hermione, don't you?"

"Of course. Along with you, she's my best friend."

By this time they were in Ron's room. Harry shut the door. "_Just_ friends?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Well, if you have any intelligence at all – which I gather that you do, because you're asking this question – you already knew the answer."

"That's what I thought." Harry's tone was a combination of smugness and jealousy.

"What? You're not telling me you like her, too?" Harry was about to answer in the affirmative when Ron continued, "Because, if you do, well, I'll lay off her. You – well – I'm not sure how to say this, but... you've kind of had a screwed up personal life. The parents thing and everything." He glanced up at Harry's scar, an action that was to be expected of strangers, but not of Ron. "I'm sure I wouldn't want to interfere."

If Harry had been expecting anything, that wasn't it. He was faced with a difficult choice, between friendship and love. Ron was willing to give up his love for friendship; shouldn't Harry do the same?

"No," said Harry at last with an effort. "No, you take her. She's my friend, but not – not more."


	4. Straight Down Diagon Alley

Disclaimer: Jägermonsters and other _Girl Genius_ references do not belong to me. I wish they did, especially Gil and the Jägermonsters, but they don't. PS Gil is living proof that all nice guys are either taken or fictional characters. :) Heehee he's sparky, that's why I like him! Intelligence is high on my list, which comes from being surrounded by stupid people – they're slaves of **the other**, you know. Anyway...

(All disclaimers apply to the whole story).

Chapter 4: Straight Down Diagon Alley

Sorry it's been a while, school and my new addiction to Final Fantasy III have been interfering with the really _important _stuff. Ooh I'm getting so excited we are SO CLOSE to the first couple WDs! :) Yay! :) OMG they actually happen during this chapter although we don't see the aftereffects or know about it until next chapter. Yay! anyway.

Monday morning arrived at the Burrow, bringing with it a flurry of activity. Everyone was primping and preening so as to look their best at the Alley; everyone except Fred and Mr. Weasley, who were staying at home. Hermione had finally found a hair-taming spell in one of her books, and was busy applying it to the bushy mop on her head long after everyone else was ready to go. When she finally came downstairs, though, the effect was stunning.

"Wow," said Ron, voicing Harry's opinion. "Why didn't you do that before?" Hermione just blushed and muttered something about being single now.

"Come on," bustled Mrs. Weasley, interrupting the awkward moment. "We're already running later than I planned." One by one they all threw Floo powder in the fireplace, shouted, "Diagon Alley," and disappeared.

The Leaky Cauldron was crowded with people of all different sorts. There was a group of goblins in one corner, and a hag and a vampire were having a quiet discussion in another. The center of attention of most of the crowd was a table in the middle of the pub, where a drunk jägermonster ranted to his companions about affairs on the dirigibles.

"Ach," he drawled, his head lolling about, "Eef yuhng Master Geelgahmyesh und thees Clay geet toogehther – shee's a Heeterodyn, yoo noh, qvite a spahrk – I new vehn I ferst smehlled her dat shee vahs -"

At this point the intoxicated monster collapsed in a heap on the table. One of the others stood up. "Vat you lookink at? You got odder tings to do, yah?" The crowd dispersed, laughing, as the jägermonsters groaned about the future plot their compatriot had given away.

Harry had been leaning against the fireplace during this discussion, interested and thoroughly amused. He had always loved the pub's policy of welcoming creatures from all fantasy stories. He didn't have much time to linger, as Ron wanted a Fortescue sunday and Hermione needed to pick up some new NEWT preparation books. First, though, they had to go to Gringotts.

Harry always dreaded going to the wizard bank with the Weasleys: although they were nice about it, he knew that they envied him his large pile of inherited gold. It came as a surprise, then, that upon reaching the Weasley vault the family found more than enough gold to get by on. It would, of course, have been impolite to make inquiries, but Ron whispered to Harry as they got back on the cart, "It's because of the twins. Seriously, they had made like a thousand galleons by the end of their sixth year."

Hermione remarked, as the threesome made their way to Flourish and Blotts, on the dearth of textbooks in their new curriculum. Indeed, the only purchase they made was Magic in the Industrial Age: A Study of Wizarding and Muggle Developments in the 19th Century. Only Professor Binns would assign such a boring-sounding book.

On the whole there were more supplies to obtain than ever. Potions ingredients now included more and more dangerous chemicals, and apparently Professor Sprout had stopped merely toying with the idea of students bringing their own plants. There was even one extra, semi-expensive item that Professor Dumbledore himself must have added to the list, or at least Harry, Ron, and Hermione couldn't see who else would have included it: a wand focus. This was a small crystal which medieval wizards used to put on the handles of their wands to increase the power and accuracy of their spells; unfortunately international law had banned them in the late 1700s as part of the Duel Equality Act. To get them, therefore, the friends had to go to a place where only Harry had been before: Knockturn Alley.

The place had not changed much since he had been there last. The old wood looked even greyer after the effects of more years of rain and weather. It was just as dreary, just as forbidding, and just as confusing with its twisted streets and vague signs. They were about to turn back when a voice they well recognized came from behind them.

"Well, if it isn't the muggle-lovers' convention."

"Malfoy," muttered Ron and Harry simultaneously, and they readied themselves for a physical struggle. Hermione, however, turned around first.

"Oh, thank _goodness_ you're here, Draco," she said, coolly but with no real malice showing. "We're not used to hanging out in the ghetto, criminal part of town. Perhaps you could point us to a place where we could find wand foci?"

Malfoy was taken completely off-guard. He had expected a vicious attack. "Uh – over there, the sign with the twisted wand," he stammered, not even catching the insult in her request until it was too late. He almost said something about it, but by that time they had disappeared into the Last Spell.

"Nice!" said Harry, giving Hermione a fingertip high-five. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?" asked Hermione, who was busy looking around her at the various items for sale in the shop. While the building was definitely in the style of Knockturn Alley, the contents could almost have passed for legal. Almost everything in the place was made up of precious or semi-precious stones; there were necklaces that cast invisible magical reflection shields, 'squeeze stones' that could hold enormous amounts of potion in an incredibly small space, and, of course, Rings of Power.

"The way you fended off Malfoy," said Harry incredulously. "Do you realize that you just-"

Harry didn't have time to finish his sentence, as a harried little wizard, obviously the shop owner, bustled into the room.

"Hogwarts?" he said hurriedly, as if he had to be somewhere soon, "You'll be looking for wand foci, then. One at a time, follow me to the back room."

Harry went first, as Hermione was looking a little nervous and Ron was obviously better than he at comforting her. "Why did the Ministry ban what you have here?" he asked, to make conversation. "Most of it seems to be defensive."

The little old man was searching through drawers in a large cabinet on the wall. "They were big duelers, the eighteenth century wizards. Couldn't bear to – your house?"

"Wh-what? Oh, I mean, Gryffindor."

"All right then, let's try ruby. Before I put this on, though, I want you to cast lumos."

"_Lumos_."

"Good, it's nice and bright but could be brighter. That's excellent. So anyway, there was this one champion dueler, a Russian fellow, who could beat anybody. Don't remember his name. I think it was – no, ruby doesn't work for you, we're going to have to dig deeper. What's your wand wood?"

"Holly."

"Holly. Holly and Gryffindor. Hmm, let's try a rose quartz, shall we? And anyway, this Russian chap couldn't be beat because he spent all his time developing shields and magic-storers. Things like, you know, a squeeze stone. If you put waters of life in a squeeze stone you can recover from most of your injuries. No, rose quartz isn't working, either. What's your order?"

"I'm Order of the Phoenix."

"Let's see, dear me, that might be a red jasper. Like I was saying, squeeze stones, you can also store poisons in them and throw them at your opponent. But the worst was the rings of power. You could control your enemy, make him your slave. But the real reason all the legislation was passed was because they couldn't beat that Russian guy. Anyone, as you know, can be taken out by a shot in the back or by surprise attack; with the shield necklaces, though, the wearer was invincible except during the brief time that they were actually casting the spell, and of course they couldn't protect against the unforgiveables. Huh! Even jasper doesn't work! Hmm."

The man sat down on the floor, muttering to himself.

"Excuse me?" said Harry at last.

"Huh? What?"

"Perhaps this would help. The Sorting Hat-" here Harry took a tremendous breath, and steeled himself for what he was about to do. "The Sorting Hat almost put me in Slytherin."

"Ah ha!" The little man literally jumped into the air. "Tigerseye! Why didn't you say that before?" He began to rummage through another drawer. "But the ministry wizards wanted full power, over everyone," he said, as if there had been no long pause in the conversation. "They didn't want anyone to be secure from their power. So they banned permanent protection magic." As he fitted this last stone to the end of Harry's wand, suddenly the light in the room became brighter and brighter. "There you have it! Well, best see to your friends now, they'll be wondering what happened to you." He began to bustle Harry out of the area.

"Wait!" said Harry urgently.

"What is it, boy? What's the matter?"

"I'd – I'd like to make some other purchases."

By the time Harry was done, he had bought three shield necklaces, ten squeeze stones, and of course his tigerseye wand focus. Ron went in next, then Hermione; they both took much less time than Harry did, and came out only with their wand foci: smokey quartz for Ron, and carbuncle for Hermione. Afterwards, out on a side street, Harry told them what he had done.

"Harry!" scolded Hermione, her brow knitted with either concern or anger, he couldn't tell which. "It's bad enough that Hogwarts is requiring us to break the law, but you do so _willingly_? You jeopardize your future for some magical _trinkets_?"

"They're not trinkets, Hermes," said Ron thoughtfully. "Actually, I agree with him. If You-Know-Who's gonna come after Hogwarts or Harry this year, we're going to need some protection. And apparently these squeeze stones are just super-concentrated potion bottles; there's no harm in that. I say we go for it."

Hermione still looked unconvinced. "We could get in _so much trouble_..." she said doubtfully.

Harry put on a high voice. "_I'm going to bed, before you two get us killed – or worse, **expelled**_."

They all laughed. "Oh, all right," said Hermione, "I'll wear a necklace. After all, they _are_ rather pretty." She was understating: the jewelry was absolutely gorgeous. The shield gems were onyx, and each jewel was set on its own silver chain. There were even male and female versions: Hermione's onyx was quite pronounced, and her chain was delicate; but Harry and Ron's stones were hidden within a thick chain that seemed reminiscent of muggle punk fashion.

The wand foci being the last purchases they had to make, Harry treated them all to another ice cream before they made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron. There they met up with Ginny and Mrs. Weasley, who had just come back from the Last Spell themselves.

"Really," said Mrs. Weasley, her hands on her hips, "Dumbledore sending his students to a store like _that_. In Knockturn Alley! I'll never go in there again, never!"

"Come _on_, mom!" groaned Ginny.

"Oh. Right." She threw a pinch of Floo Powder into the fire. "The Burrow!"

One by one they all shouted, "The Burrow!" and left the pub behind. Five minutes later they were still spinning in circles. "We must have gone around the whole Floo network twice by now!" thought Harry. "What's wrong with it?" Finally, though, a hearth opened up in front of him, and he stepped out, rubbing his eyes. "At last. I was beginning to-" He opened his eyes. "Oh, shit!"


	5. Up in Flames

Chapter 5: Up in Flames

Ha ha ha ha ha I AM EVIL!!! In case you hadn't already noticed. You'll find that fire is a recurring image of pain/evil/death in my works, not because of the biblical connection with hell and stuff but rather because my own personal nightmare/boggart is someone, anyone, being burned alive. Your skin starts to melt off, then the fat liquefies and drips off of you, and then the muscle, but you're _still alive_ as all this happens, and you can still think and move as slowly you melt away into ooze.

"Where **am** I?" thought Harry out loud. It looked like the devil had finally broken through the earth's crust and unleashed the fires of hell. All around him flaming debris was strewn all over the ground. Hermione popped into the ruined, broken hearth behind him.

"Oh, crap. This is either You-Know-Who or the apocalypse."

"Or maybe both."

A broken sobbing came from one of the more intact piles of rubble. The dark mark hovered directly above. Harry and Hermione began to move slowly toward the sound, when a ragged voice shouted, "Wait!"

A tall figure in dark robes came stumbling across the ground, his face white with horror. There were dirt and blood on his robes, and he moved like a blind man across the fire-lit waste that was once the Burrow.

"Ron!" Hermione was running to him as soon as she recognized him. "Ron! Oh, what happened? You must have gotten here before us! Are you hurt? What happened?" He reeled against her, and threatened to pass out.

"Hermione! Help him sit down!" Harry, too, rushed over.

"Look what they did to him," gasped Ron, as he held up hands covered in dried blood. "I- I got here almost half an hour ago. It was already like this... I got here just in time to see him..." he shuddered violently and swayed as though he was going to fall over. Hermione leaned over and caught him.

"Who, Ron? Who?"

Ron choked on the soot in the air and the vomit that was threatening to escape. "It was Fred. They didn't even... they didn't even kill him," he finally managed to whisper, his voice hoarse. "They just... he was _alive_ when it... the fire..." He broke off, unable to speak any longer.

Harry was in his element. "Hermione, stay here and take care of him. I'm going to investigate that noise." He scrambled over large chunks of rock into a depression that had certainly not been there before. The red glare of the fires still burning here and there illuminated two figures at the bottom. One was long, thin, and still; the other was short, plump, and quaking like an aspen. "Mrs. Weasley," he murmured to himself as he began to descend.

She was kneeling on the ground near her husband, crying her eyes out over what was left of his dead body: a brittle, crackling skin surrounding an interior of ash. As Harry watched, she reached out a hand to caress his forehead, which crumbled into dust at the touch. Then her sobs were redoubled, and it was all Harry could do to keep from crying himself. Gently he went down to her, and touched her shoulder. "Mrs. Weasley."

"I- am- going- to- KILL- THEM!" growled Mrs. Weasley through her tears, starting in a low murmur and rising to a roar. She reared up with a strength that surprised Harry, throwing him to the ground. _"Incendeo Infinitum!"_

A huge red phoenix, made apparently from the same type of light as the dark mark, burst from her wand and circled the place where the Burrow had once stood. It ripped through the two giant green skulls, then flew high into the sky with a rush of wind. Wings outspread, it burst apart, showering the land all about with liquid red light. The wind began to circle, faster and faster, with Mrs. Weasley at the nexus, controlling it. She opened her mouth to utter Harry knew not what dread incantation, when suddenly Ginny stepped into the circle.

The wind died, and the fires again dropped to an ember glow. Mrs. Weasley slowly lowered her wand. Now the power was in the balance; but when Ginny spoke it was in an innocent, almost tentative voice.

"Mother," she said.

This one word had more effect than any spell ever could have. The saber-toothed tiger drooped visibly, and slumped to the ground.

"Mother, we have to wait."

Harry was inwardly amazed at the role reversal. Ginny bent down to examine her father, and then her grief-stricken mother. Then she stood up, without a tear to mar her intensely pale face.

"We will watch, and we will wait. But when the time comes, we will strike those who have taken our family. And when we do, we will hit hard and we will hit fast, so that we do not make their mistake: we will annhilate them completely, so that there are none to strike back." She walked over to a small patch of flame, pulled out a pocket knife, and made a small cut on her finger. A drop of blood gathered there, and then dripped into the fire with a hiss. "On my flesh and blood."

"Flesh and blood," echoed the crackling fire.


	6. Postmortem

Chapter 6: Postmortem

This is a real challenge for me, writing the reactions of the Weasleys to the deaths of two family members. You see, Rowling only devotes one line to Percy's method of grief, in CoS when talking about Penelope Clearwater. There's about a page of Ron, and a paragraph of Ron, Fred and George. I found it rather interesting that we only see Percy grieving after Penelope is petrified, and not after Ginny is taken; rather an insensitive lout, isn't he? Basically, what I'm getting at here is not to be too hard on me, as there is very little source material. Everyone grieves in a slightly different way, and it is almost impossible to predict which person will be in shock and which will brood and which will try to kill things. Oh, and I'm sorry for any confusion, but in the last chapter when Ron said, "It was Fred," he meant that the one he had witnessed dying was Fred. I've changed it now, so that it's clearer.

They sat crowded around the small table at George's house in Hogsmeade, sipping their tea silently. Only Percy was absent, beside the two that had – well, that simply _could_ not be there, under the circumstances. At other times there would have been much muttering on all of their parts concerning his absence, but now they took it in with the same shocked expressions of vacancy with which they attempted to cope with what had happened. They did not blame him as much as they would have, as Hermione, the least distraught of the group and thus the one given the task of informing what was left of the family, had not been able to reach him. Apparently he had been summoned off somewhere on business.

Mrs. Weasley was sobbing uncontrollably, her ragged breaths breaking what would otherwise be silence but for the ticking of the clock. Arthur and she had been together for nearly fifty years now, and the lack even of a body to bury (when they had tried to pick it up, it had crumbled away into dust) had broken her emotional self-control. Surprisingly, it was Hermione who was comforting the matriarch, not Ginny. 

Bill was huddled up in a corner of his chair, or at least giving the impression of being in such a position. In such a small house, it was almost impossible to withdraw from the main body of people. He had his long legs drawn up, and his arms wrapped around them. Although the presence of eight bodies in the room made it very warm, he was shivering, and kept on looking around him like a hunted animal.

Charlie was at the table, resting most of the weight of his upper body on his elbows, with his head in his hands. No one could see his face, but the occasional drip of water showed that he was crying softly.

George was on the verge of an emotional breakdown. Like many twins, he and Fred had shared a special bond [A/N: Remember, I never ever ever advocate slash in my stories, unless it's characters teasing others, and then they're only joking] that extended beyond friendship and beyond the normal ties of family; they were almost like one person, or at least Rowling never made any distinction between them. To lose his brother was to lose a part of himself.

Ron was still in shock from witnessing what Harry could only assume was the bloody death of his older brother; his face was ashen grey and his hands shook. When the family had partially recovered, they had attempted to obtain the bodies of the dead. Arthur's fate was, as has been said, to crumble to dust, but they never found Fred, and Ron would say no more about it. He had an idea, though, of what had happened; the fire was particularly foul-smelling in the general direction that Ron had come from.

Ginny sat nearly erect, proud and stiff, her eyes boring into the fidgeting hands in her lap. She was recounting the oath she had so recently sworn, on her own flesh and blood no less. There was no turning back now; all that remained was to find out which death eaters had been personally responsible. Then she would track them, hunt them down, and kill them, leaving a drop of her own blood on each body as the oath required. No Weasley had sworn the flesh-and-blood oath in over 300 years, but when they did the fulfillment was terrible to behold. She smiled grimly.

Harry was dealing with the deaths quite well. He had been preparing for this moment since fourth year, after Cedric had died – death did not bother him any more. He sat quietly, apart from the group, waiting for them to finish. Hermione stood beside him, fidgiting nervously while the tears streamed down her face. Harry contemplated calming her, soothing her; then he dismissed these thoughts with a disgusted shake of his head. At a time like this, all he could think of was stealing Hermione back from Ron. How Slytherin.

They sat this way for hours, not speaking and hardly moving. It got later and later, and the grey day turned into a grey night. Finally Mrs. Weasley spoke. "Well, we're still alive." The unspoken part of this sentence manifested itself in a single tear that followed the well-worn trail down her cheek. George shuddered. "We still need to eat, to drink, to sleep. Come on, help me make dinner."

They did help, and it helped them too. The movement, the activity, the need for interaction – soon everyone except George was, although not cheerful, much less morbid than they had been. The meal was eaten, seats were taken, and the Weasleys were ready to discuss what was to be done.

There was no hope of reconstructing the Burrow: even the foundations had been removed and replaced with a gaping pit. Of the remaining Weasleys, two were abroad, one lived in Hogsmeade, and another lived in parts unknown. That left Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, Ron, Harry, and Hermione. They could not possibly all stay in Hogsmeade; although Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was full of promise, at the current time there simply were not enough funds to keep everyone, nor was there enough room.

"All right, we know that George can only house two of us. So, Harry, Hermione and I will just -"

"Mum, why are you just assuming that we will stay here? Hadn't we better discuss it first?" Ginny was showing immense courage in interrupting her mother; normally it would have been a bad idea.

"Ginny, dear, you are the two youngest. You should have family, it will help..."

Ron coughed, but did not speak.

Hermione spoke up. "Mrs. Weasley," she said in her usual clear voice, "Perhaps we should decide this by who needs this most. Obviously Ginny," - here Ginny shot daggers at Hermione - "as the youngest, will need the most help in coping." Again, Ginny looked murderously at the older girl. It seemed that she had lost all of her childhood with the oath she had sworn, and that it was now the only thing she possessed. "But as for the question of whether Ron or you should be the other to stay... don't you see that if you are with us, it will be as though you are alone? You will have no one, really, to talk to. You will have no family. We cannot let you do this to yourself."

"But you can let Ron." Mrs. Weasley was beginning to bristle, her protective side on full red alert.

Harry was beginning to catch on. "No, Mrs. Weasley. At school, we are like family. We can help Ron, though we cannot help you. The net benefit is greater if the three of us are together; we can begin to heal."

Mrs. Weasley looked uncertain, but Bill cut in. "They're right, you know – like brothers and sister, I've seen them. We all have. Mum, Ginny needs you. You know she does, and more than Ron does. And the three of them need each other."

She sighed. "All right. But where are you going to stay?"

"Well, we could try an inn or someone else's house," suggested Hermione.

"Yeah, right. 'Oh, hello, could we stay at your place for the rest of the summer? Great! By the way, we happen to be on the run from Voldemort, can we still stay?'" Ginny's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"There must be _someone_ willing to take us in," said Hermione in a state of mild panic.

Harry slowly smiled. "I think I might know just the place. They'd take in three underage wizards, I'm sure."

Charlie saw the look on Harry's face and stopped dead. "You're joking."

"No, I'm not."


	7. Dursleys Again

Chapter 7: Dursleys Again

It's going to be getting more lighthearted again, after this chapter; I can't write gloomy, depressing stuff _all_ the time, can I? I'll try to keep Ron as realistic as possible, but eventually he's going to have to learn to deal with it. I'll try to ease him out of his current strait. Also, I'm sorry if I make a mistake about British law. I'm an American, you can't expect me to know everything! Wow, I just realized why I always interrupt silence with a clock ticking. There is an incredibly noisy clock in the computer room, one in my bedroom, and even one in our upstairs bathroom. When I'm upstairs, which is the only time it's quiet, I can never escape them.

It was Friday night, and at Number 4 Privet Drive that meant television. Harry knew full well that the Dursleys would be very annoyed with him for interrupting it, but he didn't care. Now he would have allies in the muggle war. They would not put him down so easily now.

It was Dudley who answered the door. "What?" he said, sounding surly. Then he saw who it was. He whimpered.

"Hey, Dudley." Harry sounded bored. "Would you mind telling Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia that you guys will be hosting a slumber party?"

Dudley blanched, but didn't stop there. Soon he was ashen grey, then green. Suddenly he scuttled towards the living room, bawling at the top of his lungs. Harry stepped into the open doorway, but Ron and Hermione hesitated. Just then Uncle Vernon bellowed like a mad bull and appeared in the door frame of the living room. His chest was heaving, and the light in his eyes was like a red flame.

"Get – out – of – here," he panted, swelling.

"I'm not eighteen yet," noted Harry. "You cannot legally kick me out." He advanced until he was directly in front of Uncle Vernon, then looked up into his beady eyes. "These are my friends," he said defiantly. "The Ministry of Magic said that they could stay here."

"Ministry of Magic? What is all this rubbish?" asked Uncle Vernon, startled out of his fuming silence. Harry held up a piece of parchment.

"Signed by the personal assistant to the Minister himself," stated Harry proudly. "It's a good thing Fred and George sent those prank letters to Penelope Clearwater," he added silently. They hadn't even bothered to ask Percy to sign it himself.

"And since when does some Ministry of Magic have power over me?" asked Uncle Vernon menacingly.

"Since they added 'magic' to the title," replied Harry nonchalantly. "Of course, I could just bring this note around to the neighbors and see if _they_ would let me stay -"

"_No!_" Uncle Vernon's voice held traces of panic, and his normally purplish face had gone red. "I mean – I _suppose_ you could stay here. Just until the end of vacation, mind you," he qualified, indignantly, "and _never again..._"

"Thanks, Uncle Vernon," said Harry cheerfully. He turned to Ron and Hermione, who would have been, under other circumstances, trying very hard to suppress giggles. "Come on in, you guys. Hermione, you can probably have the guest room; Ron, you can use my room. I'll sleep under the stairs. It's homelike enough down there."

The three of them sat on Harry's, temporarily Ron's, bed. Although he hardly dared to admit it, Harry's room was almost as comforting to him as Hogwarts; the Dursleys never came in, after all, just stood in the door frame and yelled at him. For the time being, he was fairly certain that they would not be bothered: the lure of the television along with the amazing repellant force generated by three magic users would probably keep the annoying relatives away for the rest of the summer.

"Why are we here anyway, Harry?" asked Hermione softly, staring off into the distance. "They hate magic, and you hate them. Why are we staying _here_ of all places?"

"I'm certain, no matter what Fudge says, that the attack on the Burrow was caused by death eaters and that the purpose of their mission was to destroy me. Now -"

"That sounds so paranoid."

"I know, but it's the truth. He really _is_ out to get me."

"Sure, that's what they ALL say."

Harry laughed loudly, and soon both of them were laughing riotously. It was a wonderful relief of tension; everything they had seen in the past few days was now but a memory, they could get on with their lives again. Inwardly Harry marveled that a simple sound could be so helpful.

Something wasn't right – the laughter soon died away into an uneasy silence. It had sounded different from any other laugh they had shared, and suddenly Hermione realized why. She got up, then sat down again next to Ron.

Of course! What would a joke be without Ron's loud, low laughs? It was like playing in an orchestra without the string bass.

Ron sat on the bed, not moving, his eyes focused somewhere past the floor. "Ron?" whispered Hermione, as she sat softly next to him. She put her hand on his shoulder and he jumped visibly. Coming out of his trance, he turned to face her, Harry sitting unnoticed behind them.

"Why?" he asked, his eyes half full of tears. "Why them? Dad and Fred, what did they do, that he killed them and not us?"

"They were the only ones there," responded Hermione tentatively, but truthfully. She had not quite expected this.

"But why did they bother with us in the first place?" Ron's face would have melted a heart of stone. Bewilderment, confusion, loss, all were blended into the paling skin and wide eyes. He clasped his hands around one of Hermione's, trying to hold on to _something_. "Oh please, God, don't take her away from me too," he thought.

"It was because of me," said Harry in a flat voice. The other two had almost forgotten that he was there. "They knew I was staying there, that I was unprotected by my family. Only chance made their plan fail."

Ron looked at Harry's dry eyes and expressionless face. "How do you do it?" he asked. At Harry's inquisitive look he continued, "How do you keep it from showing? Teach me. Teach me how."

"Ron!" said Hermione reproachfully. "Don't hide your feelings, that only creates more sorrow." She put her finger lightly on his chin and turned his head to look in his eyes. He searched back into hers, and found there strength, understanding, and compassion. After a few seconds he collapsed into her arms, sobbing. She rocked him gently, comforting him. Harry watched, feeling strangely detached from the situation. It was like watching people you don't know from a far way off.

"I do not hide my feelings." Harry looked at Ron with pity. "Ever since last year, I have not been affected by death. When she died, I knew – and I no longer fear to die." He said this calmly, although for anyone else it would have been an intensely emotional moment. Hermione and Ron had been there, as had the whole school, when the corridor caved in; they had seen Harry digging through the rubble, trying to recover her dead body, weeping as he worked. Perhaps he had spent all his tears then, for now they all knew what a waste his efforts had been. While many corpses had been uncovered, the one he was searching for was not. There would be a headstone and a grave, but Cho Chang's body would not be there.

Gradually Ron's sobs slowed, became quieter, and then stopped. There was silence for a minute, except for the ticking of the clock, and then Harry spoke again. "That was the final word in a lesson life began teaching me when I was one year old: death happens, but life goes on."

Ron looked up and sniffed. There were tear-tracks down his face, but his eyes were dry now. "You're right. Let's see where life leads us now." He looked around, as if for the first time realizing that he was at the Dursleys' house. He swallowed his sorrow and tried to grin. Hermione could see through it, though I doubt that anyone else could have. "What fun we're going to have with your cousin Dudley!"

Dudley, who had been spying with one ear pressed to the door, gave a frightened little 'meep' and sped downstairs.

***

I have decided it's a lot easier just to answer the reviews here, especially since I now have internet connection in my room. On the other hand, I'm going to end up posting replies to all the reviews for all the chapters, so...

**Chapter 1**

_Charlotte Black_ ~ Thank you! I do my best.

**Chapter 2**

_My note of foreshadowing doom (in response to an extremely revealing review from Galadriel):_

Galadriel I'M GONNA KILL YOU! For Galadriel and for anyone else I've run ideas past, please don't post them because until I put them in I'm not sure if I'll use them or not. So don't give anything away! But I will provide you with some hints:  
Oliver Wood is as hot as he is in the movie.  
Brother will turn upon brother (and father, and mother, and sister)  
The Magical Marauder Joke Shop has bought out Zonkos!  
Beware Halloween.  
There will be a romance (no not pansy Parkinson and harry i'm not that sick - and no gay/lesbian relationships either) (and no snape-hermiones, or teacher-students; those are disgusting)  
Olivia has payed me $2.25 to make Harry like Hermione heheheh.  
After Halloween, Harry will not be afraid of death.  
Hagrid will finally meet his magical-creature match. No, not like that, I mean one that he has to run away from.  
Some main characters will die. Some minor characters will die. In general, a lot of death.  
I think that's all I can tell you w/o giving everything away... have fun!

_Charlotte Black_ ~ Nope, sorry, the Dursleys are important... obviously...

**Chapter 3**

_Charlotte Black_ ~ There will be a purpose for it later on, too... o_O

**Chapter 4**

_PotterPerson_ ~ Sure thing.

_Charlotte Black_ ~ Thanks for telling me. I fixed it.

_Galadriel_ ~ Hee hee, I know you don't like what I'm going to do with this story... :-P

**Chapter 5**

_Indiviualists_ ~ Hope you had fun on your vacation/trip/whatever...

_Charlotte Black_ ~ Changed it. You're like my delta, lol. You catch it after I post it.

_Galadriel_ ~ :-D Yup, why do you think I called it an angst fic?

**Chapter 6**

_PotterPerson_ ~ Well, obviously it wasn't Sirius' place, but good guess. Oh, and per your brother turning on all relations comment, let's think a bit... Arthur is dead. Perhaps that is the turning bit? Hmm... Oops I think I just gave a lot away...

_Charlotte Black_ ~ Yeah you're missing something. Something huge. Like, you should be able to tell who the death eater is already. I mean... did I say that?

_Sherman_ ~ I am never going to figure out why you chose Sherman as your fanfic name. And FYI, I got a C+ in his class so yeah I really have to worry about his papers this semester or else... *makes vague strangling noise*

_Tigress of the Night_ ~ Perhaps this chapter will explain?

**General Responses**

I would like to issue a grand thank-you to Charlotte Black, who was the first reader that I didn't know personally and has corrected me on – well, not numerous occasions, but twice. I would also like to thank Galadriel and Sherman, whom I _do_ know personally, for keeping up with my story although Galadriel really doesn't like what I'm planning to do with it. And, of course, everyone who reviews!


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